Angel
by Morauko
Summary: There is a shadow lurking beneath the dungeons of Hogwarts, and when two lonely souls meet, nothing will ever be the same. Slash HPDM, HPSS. ABANDONED
1. Prologue

Summary: As far as the world knows, Severus Snape does not exist. As far as the world is concerned, Harry Potter's sole purpose is to defeat Voldemort. But there is a shadow lurking beneath the headquarters of the light, and when two lonely souls meet, the world will be changed forever. Slash – HP/DM, HP/SS

Prologue 

I remember ripping, clawing, biting. The blood pouring down my cheeks, down my hands, down my legs. The ferocious growling as my body was ripped to shreds. And then, the gentle relief of darkness.

_When I awoke, I was unrecognisable. The scars on my torso, the wretched horror of my face, the pulpy mass that was once my eye... I could not bear to look at myself. I smashed the mirror, smashed **every** mirror, every mirror in that whole wretched room of sterile white sheets and perfectly folded corners. Pomphrey and Dumbledore tried to comfort me, patting me on the arm like some kind of dog. "We understand," they said, "It's hard for you. I'm sorry, but magic cannot fix everything."_

_And so I am damned like this forever? No, they did not speak, they just gazed at me with pity in their perfect eyes and perfect faces – pity! – and gave me a mask, so as to hide my flaws. Save their precious eyes, no doubt. Who could ever want to look upon a monster such as this?_

_But what of the werewolf? What of that foul creature that destroyed my piercing potion maker's eyes, that forced me to endure his foul curse?_

_"It was not his fault, Severus. If we tell the authorities, he will be destroyed, put down as a vicious beast. Surely you do not wish such a fate on an innocent child? I already have one student hurt, I will not let it happen to a second."_

_Then let him be destroyed! I howled in anger. Wreak vengeance for what he did to me! If I receive such a fate, why should not he? And what of Black, who felt that he could play God, that my murder would be of no consequence. Surely he's been disciplined? Surely!_

_"Sirius has been suspended for a month, though we could not tell the reason why, in order to save Remus' life. What else do you wish of us?"_

_Suspension?! ONE MONTH?! Scant punishment for attempted murder, for the destruction of my future. And then it was finally clear to me – there was no place for me in the world. No place for the quiet, for the intelligent, for the skilled. No place for the 'evil' Slytherin, no matter how he strived towards the light._

_I tried to return to the normal order of classes, hiding my shame beneath a mark of deepest black, spending each full moon in that… that PLACE where it all happened. But I had never been popular, and now everyone laughed. Everywhere I went, all I could see were those laughing, mocking eyes._

_Potter's gang were the worst. A month later, Black returned to the school, and he took such PRIDE in his handiwork. Poor snivelly Snivellus, he would laugh. Finally realised how ugly you are? What's that you say? A terrible deforming injury? No, I can't see any difference to you at all. _

_At least my injury gave me some small pleasure – Lupin, once Black's friend, and maybe even more, never spoke to them again. _

_But eventually, despite those small pleasures, and the fact that I had never had much popularity to be lost, I could stand it no more! When I was finally alone, I escaped those halls of bright lights and happy smiles, denied me forever, and the cruel eyes that followed my every move. I escaped that world of harsh light into the comfort of the shadows, where none would ever see my face again._

_I am deformed, a werewolf, a creature of the darkness. I can no longer bear the light._

_But the dungeons of the school are my dominion now. And I will make them pay for that they did to me._

- The memoirs of Severus Snape, 1975


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all characters, events and places within, belong to the admirable J.K Rowling, not me. The basic premise belongs to Gaston Leroux, and the framework of some scenes belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. However, for the most part, plot, writing, and characterisation are ALL MINE!

Warnings: Occasional bad language, and there may be descriptions of battles at a later point, but nothing too graphic. Oh, and slash, mostly of the HP/DM and HP/SS type. If that squicks you, don't read. Now, on with the story

Authors Note at end.

Chapter 1 

_28/12/96_

"It's not… bloody… fair!"

The angry voice echoed slightly against the cold stone walls, before fading into silence. A final resounding kick at the sole wooden door resounded through the small room in the dungeons, before the speaker sunk to the ground.

Through the dim lights of the room, an observer would be able to see a single figure, face hidden behind his knees. Dark hair, calmer now that it had grown slightly, cascaded to the figure's nose, blending in with the dark clothing when not being moved away from his eyes in annoyance. With a final sigh, the figure's head lifted, revealing a tired face, easily identifiable to all witches and wizards by the now dull emerald eyes and a lightning scar, half hidden behind his hair.

"Why do they treat me like this?" the boy now known as Harry Potter murmured to himself. "I could understand if I was, say, Neville Longbottom, and needed to be kept safe so as not to endanger someone. But I should be _out_ there, I should be helping! _I'm_ the one who trained the DA, who got the best defence marks of the year. Why is _Ron_ out on the battle lines? Why is _Draco_ out spying, bringing in our only information? Why is _Hermione_ researching ancient magic to use in the battle? _I_ should be the one out there fighting, leading the battle, killing the bad guys! _Why them?!_"

His voice rose during his speech to an almost anguished howl, before he quietened again. "It's that _stupid_ prophecy, I know it! That prophecy, that got… that got…" He started to sob quietly, as if remembering some terrible wrongdoing.

When his tears were spent, Harry started to speak more calmly. "You'd think Dumbledore would learn, wouldn't you?" A halfhearted chuckle there, as if he was trying to resist the urge to cry. "After all the good withholding information did us last year, you'd think he'd want to inform me, to teach me, to get me ready for this task of mine that was worth leaving me with the Dursleys for 'my own good'."

"But NO!" He bashed his fist against the wall, wincing as the rough stone scraped some of the skin off his knuckles.

"Now now, my dear boy," he uttered mockingly, "We can't risk losing you. It's not safe. Now, you just sit there and watch like a good little boy, so you can come and kill Voldemort for us when we need you to."

A wry smile, and he continued. "A puppet, that's all I am. A figurehead, to fix the public's hopes on, and a scapegoat to be blamed for every death. Every… single… death. Potter is the Hero, the Golden Boy, he's supposed to save everybody. Why haven't you killed Voldemort, Potter? Why did you let my sister die, my mum, your godfather, Cedric, your parents?

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!" He yelled to the room, hoping to quiet the demons that haunted him. "They won't let me fight him, I'm 'too important', they won't even teach me! How am I supposed to help, when they just _leave_ me like this? I could save lives!!!"

He quieted again, watching streams of multicoloured magic flow from his fingers, a visible reflection of his untapped power. "If I could use the Power the Dark Lord Knows Not, I could have saved Sirius. I could have saved so many who have died, so many who will. But I _can't…_" His voice trailed off into nothing, as he watched the hypnotic interplay of the magic, trying to forget for just one moment the admiration and accusations that lay outside the wooden door, up in the headquarters of the light.

Funny, really, he reminisced silently. He remembered how, in first year, this castle was _Hogwarts_, a place of happiness and carefree memories, a real home of all that was light and good. But now all it housed was pain, as students seriously prepared for a doom that now seemed too soon, as aurors organised their battle plans, as mediwizards frantically tried to heal the numerous injured. For the first time in all his years at the school, it seemed less than the 'headquarters of the light', and more like a prison. A cage.

That was the reason Harry found himself down here in the dungeons, time after time. Who would expect Harry Potter, symbol of the light, to hide among the shadows, in a land of potions and darkness and long silences? And so, Hogwarts dungeons, the one place the Boy Who Lived would never willingly go, was the one place Harry Potter found sanctuary.

_"Harry…"_ a deep voice sounded out of the corner of the room, and with a single movement, Harry Potter vanished beneath his famous invisibility cloak. Maybe, if they couldn't see him, they would forget he was here…? But a quick glance to the Marauder's Map revealed that no living soul haunted this level of the dungeons.

"Who… who's there?" He asked in tentative confusion, annoyed at the shaky sound to his usually sure voice. What have I to be afraid of, he asked himself. Well, apart from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he amended with an amused smile.

_"You have great powers, Harry Potter. I can help you control them. Is that what you want?"_ came the voice, resounding as if it came from the very walls of the room.

"Yes, yes, more than anything!" Harry replied, eagerly rising to his feet. Almost running in his excitement, he made his way to the one corner of the room that he could not see, veiled, as it were, in shadows.

There was nothing there. Nothing, but a full-length mirror, with an inscription in some tongue he could not recognise.

"Where are you?" Harry asked the mirror, for lack of a better subject to address. More firmly now, he told the voice to show itself to him.

_"No, not yet, my little viper," _the voice replied, sounding amused at his feeble commands. Again, as if the previous question had not been asked, it repeated, _"Do you want to learn?"_

Harry thought for a moment. Could he really trust a disembodied voice, from a subject that did not even appear on the map? What if it planned on teaching him Dark Magic, or handing him over to Voldemort? But yet, something about the voice's tone seemed sincere, and he made up his mind.

"Yes, I want you to teach me. Please," he almost begged, gazing into the silvered glass. Besides, he added inwardly, if no one teaches me, I will never be able to complete my so-called task. Then what would they do?

"But," he continued questioningly, "Why do you want to help me? Surely you are not on Dumbledore's side, and I don't think I've ever helped anyone!"

_"No,"_ the voice hissed, almost hatefully, _"I will never be on Dumbledore's side. But even creatures of the night are not immune to compassion. And there is something about you which reminds me of someone I once knew."_ Almost longing, now, as it reflected on days gone by. It sounded… human.

Shocked at receiving a real answer, however strange, Harry silently wondered why he had been denied such simple pleasures for so long. Surely it could not be so hard to answer his questions? Finding his voice once more, he asked, "How shall I refer to you, my teacher?"

After a moment's thought, the disembodied voice replied. _"Call me… Angel."_

Harry smiled.

A/N: Well, since you have all come this far, it's time to give you some information. This is a canon based fic, occurring mostly in Seventh Year, during the War against Voldemort. All the events of books one til five occurred, but for one difference: THERE WAS NO SEVERUS SNAPE! Well, there was, just nobody knew it… I make the assumption that nothing really changed for the rest of the characters, although this is, of course, untrue.

Anyway, this fic is based somewhat around The Phantom of the Opera. But it's not a simple copy! Events from both book and musical are included, in new orders, and some events and characters are missing. Things are different, and characters react differently. After all, Harry Potter is no Christine Daae. If you've never seen or read phantom, it doesn't matter. If you have, don't expect it to be at all the same.

I'm going to try to update every weekend, but inspiration comes and goes, so I don't vow to be reliable. Oh, and the chapters will mostly be longer than this one, around 2-3000 words or so.

Review Responses: (I notice that people seem to like these things)

First of all, I'd like to thank all of you for reading and reviewing. I'm not going to beg or threaten for reviews, but it's nice to see that people like it. Then again, I don't review very often myself (opera doesn't like pop-up windows) so that would be hypocritical.

Strega and Kera: I agree, Dumbledore's actions were truly horrible, and I feel sorry for Severus already. I think I'd be tempted to do the same thing in his circumstances. The mask is, of course, from Phantom, and though his life will be bad, I can safely say that things will get somewhat better. For the source of Dumbledore's actions, I advise you read _Ghosts_ by ntamara. Brilliant Snarry fic, from where the Shrieking Shack goes wrong…


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

_1/9/97_

The Hogwarts express hurtled down the tracks towards its final destination, the crimson and gold carriage standing out against the deep green of the Scottish fields. Within the train, hundreds of young wizards and witches gathered, eagerly anticipating the beginning of a new term learning magic, or bemoaning the end of their blissful months of summer holiday. And in one of these isolated compartments, four seventh year students were looking forward to their final year of schooling.

A bushy haired girl, black Hogwarts robes marked with the distinctive Head Girl badge, was berating a gangly redheaded boy, while a still slightly chubby boy looked on in amusement. "Now, Ronald," she said in an officious tone, "How could you have left your assignments so late? Look at this transfiguration essay, it's barely even legible!" Waving the offending object with one hand, her warm brown eyes seemed to pierce into her friend's very skull.

Wriggling uncomfortably under her intimidating gaze, he futilely tried to justify himself. "Hermione," he almost whined, "There are more _important_ things than schoolwork. I was working with Dumbledore and Moody, strategising for Voldemort's attacks. Schoolwork is hardly more important than that, is it?" he asked, hopefully.

"No, of course not," she agreed, herself a major player in the war effort, "but what about when you were in America for that week, trying to convince them to join us? You had plenty of time _then!_"

"I… well…" The boy's face grew crimson in shame, as he muttered something about trying to relax from the stress.

Sighing, Hermione turned to Ronald's companion, to continue her tirade. "And what about you, Neville? Surely your grandmother taught you to spend as much time as possible on your work. After all, there's more to school than spells, whatever Ronald here might think."

Neville glared lightheartedly at Ron for abandoning him to the inquisition. "_Gran_ thought, and I agree, that it was more important to be training at you-know-where than writing about how to change a couch to a cow."

"Yeah," echoed Ron, before being silenced by the full force of Hermione's disparaging look.

As the debate over schoolwork continued, the fourth person in the carriage merely smiled wryly, his face hidden once more beneath his dark hair. Some things never changed, and Hermione's obsession with schoolwork was one of those things. Unlike his companions, if Hermione remembered his silent presence, she would find that his school assignments were long since finished. But Harry had perfected the art of blending in, to the point where he even seemed invisible to his so-called friends.

Of course, he thought resentfully, he had no distractions like raids or family vacations to take him away from his homework. Despite being of age, and a powerful wizard at that, Dumbledore continued to send him back to the hell commonly known as 4 Privet Drive, ostensibly for his own protection. Harry was, of course, far too weak to defend himself in the likely occurrence of an attack, and his presence would endanger any he stayed with, making Harry responsible for yet more deaths.

However, Dumbledore's seeming inability to check on Harry's health and wellbeing meant no Order member noticed the inordinate amount of time he spent in his room, studying far harder books than the seventh year texts, and not always completely legal. And neither did they notice when his bedroom was warded with a complicated spell which prevented detection of magic use, leaving him to practice advanced spellwork for hours on end. Dumbledore may have been saving him for a special weapon, likely as a sacrifice – after all, Voldemort's life did depend on Harry's untimely blood donation – but Harry was determined to play his part in this war. Harry would not sacrifice his life to save those who did not believe in him. Instead, he would prove to them and himself that he was more than what they thought.

Zoning out of their meaningless conversation, so irrelevant to this world of war and hate, he began to review the spells and skills he had learnt over the past year, in his secret room in the dungeons. If Dumbledore could have bypassed his strong occlumency skills, honed in an attempt to stop the encroachment of his visions, he would have been surprised, and a little bit scared, at how much his Golden Boy now knew. His Angel, as he still called his tutor, was adept in many areas of magic, and had taught him much that was considered impossible or dark, preparing him for his role in the war.

At the thought of seeing his Angel once more, a wide smile broke across his usually solemn face. Finally, he could demonstrate how much he had learned, hopefully making his Angel proud. He was an exacting master and a harsh teacher, often cruelly sarcastic and deriding when Harry made mistakes. But despite all that, Harry considered the Angel his one true friend. The only person who truly saw him, not James Potter's son or the Boy-Who-Lived or the final weapon. The only person who truly cared for his feelings, his safety, his future.

A none too subtle poke to his side interrupted his thoughts, and he raised his powerful green eyes to face the inquiring gazes of his three companions. A raised eyebrow was his only remark, his Angel teaching him long ago that there was power in silence.

Disconcerted, Ron hesitantly asked, "What were you thinking about, Harry?"

"Returning to Hogwarts, of course!" Harry replied, somehow managing to put a cheery Gryffindor tone in his voice, as if he remained the excitable and childish Golden Boy they thought he was. His companions were easily fooled, and did not investigate further. Internally, he mocked their Gryffindor acceptance, while continuing to promote their false impressions of his nature. "I'm looking forward to learning more magic," he said eagerly, as if his Angel had not already taught him far beyond the seventh year course.

Ron smiled, and patted Harry on the arm as if he was some sort of special pet, or an admiring inferior. "Don't worry, Harry," he began in a patronising fashion, "You're going to learn heaps this year. Like the Spartan shield that Moody taught me, great defence against Death Eaters when in a group." Hermione and Neville nodded, smiling at their less involved companion.

Outwardly, Harry smiled back, as if to thank Ron for his reassurance, for the small bone of information thrown to him. Inwardly, he growled. Despite learning that shield with ease in February under the Angel's instructions, he still wished that Dumbledore would show some interest in teaching him. And inside him, the envy he felt at his treatment festered like a gaping wound. Harry had vowed to kill Voldemort, and to that end he would put up with the treatment he received. But after that was done, he would forsake these chains to his so-called friends and mentors, leave them behind forever. His Angel was the only one who really cared, and the only one he cared for.

As he sunk once more into fond memories of the previous year, his friends rolled their eyes at his perceived childishness, returning to their own conversations. After all, Harry didn't have their skills and experience, he couldn't understand anyway. Harry didn't bother to correct them.

As the train began to journey into the forest, Harry found himself distracted by glimmers of light up ahead. They almost look like spells, he thought, before shaking his head in disbelief. No Death Eater would be foolish enough to attack the train, protected as it was by Dumbledore's magic and the Order of the Phoenix, including the famous Alastor Moody. They were perfectly safe.

But as Harry tried to ignore the hallucination, most likely the sparks from the train wheels, a nagging feeling in his head prevented him from relaxing. Slowly, he remembered that he hadn't actually seen Professor Dumbledore on the train; nor, for that matter, any other Order members apart from their teachers. Not nearly enough to defend three hundred students. And with the extensive magical shielding around Hogwarts, now would be just the right time to eliminate future generations of opposition…

All too soon, the train began to draw to a halt; too soon, in fact, for them to be at all near Hogwarts. Nothing good had ever resulted of the train being stopped, and Harry began to fear that his theory was indeed correct.

Raising his eyes to those of his now silent friends, Harry began to talk swiftly and quietly. "I think we're under attack."

"But Harry," Hermione opposed, "Dumbledore's the only person Voldemort," Ron winced, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron! Dumbledore's the only person _you-know-who_ ever feared. He'd never attack something under Dumbledore's direct protection."

There goes Hermione with her infatuation with authority figures, Harry thought in annoyance. Unable to keep the irritation out of his voice, he sharply asked, "Do _you_ see Dumbledore on this train anywhere? Did _any_ of you, in fact, see an Auror member protecting us throughout the entirety of this train journey?"

Slowly, he saw realisation dawn in their now fearful eyes. "B… but Harry," Neville stuttered, "Who will protect us without Dumbledore here?"

"I'll protect you, Neville," Ron interrupted arrogantly, leaving Harry hard pressed to avoid glaring his so-called friend. Ron didn't know as much about fighting as he seemed to think he did, and his belief that he could fight off dozens of Death Eaters alone was simply conceited.

"Ron," Harry began, trying to keep his tone as civil as possible, "We will need more than just the four of us if we're going to protect the whole train. We need to reach McGonagal and get organised. Are you coming?"

Grumbling at being commanded by Harry Potter of all people, Ron began to walk towards the front of the train, leaving his three friends to follow behind. On the way, Harry began to collect other seventh and sixth years, along with prefects and the DA. By the time they reached the teachers' carriage, those who had decided to fight numbered almost eighty, a force twice that of the dark shadows they could now see firing at the train's protective wards. Hopefully, safety would lie in numbers.

It was Ron who knocked on the door of the staff compartment, and Ron who began to speak as he noticed the worried faces of the teachers. "Professor McGonagal, what is going on? Where is Dumbledore?"

McGonagal's face seemed surprised as she saw the crowd of students, each with their wand out. However, unlike the distressed appearances of some of her fellows, she managed to maintain a show of calm. "Headmaster Dumbledore is defending the abode of the Minister against Voldemort. This is almost certainly a diversion, and the wards will hold."

A sharp jolt against the carriage, and the lights flickered off for a moment, leaving the students looking around in fear. Annoyed at the lack of preparation, Harry pressed forward. "But what if that attack is the diversion, Professor? What if Voldemort's real plan is not to kill Fudge, but to kill three hundred future opponents? What are we going to do to defend ourselves?"

"_If_, Mr Potter, and that is a big if, the wards are breached, the staff and I are quite capable of holding off the Death Eaters long enough to enable you students to escape."

"Five staff against almost forty death eaters, each skilled in Dark Magic and relentless in the pursue of their goals? I'm sorry, Professor, but with odds like that, there is no time for the majority of students, who are unable to apparate and would easily be spotted by any of the Death Eaters."

"What are we going to do?" a Hufflepuff sixth year whimpered, her fear clearly shared by most of her year mates.

"Nice going, Potter," Ron murmured, Harry merely growling in response. Determined to engage in damage control, Ron confidently told the students to calm down. "We outnumber the Death Eaters, and we're all trained in defence. If we work together, we're certain to drive them back."

"But who will lead us?" the Hufflepuff asked.

"I –"

Ron's unfinished statement was interrupted by Professor Vector. "Mister Weasley, I have no doubt you are skilled in strategy and tactics, evidenced in your role in the war effort. However, you are far too young and inexperienced to assume the position of leader," she told him quietly.

"Mister Potter could do it," Professor McGonagal said firmly.

Astonished exclamations echoed around the carriage. Sure, Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived, and everyone expected him to beat Voldemort, but he hardly ever engaged in battles, and he was even younger than Ron. Plus, he hadn't had _any_ extra training during the holidays, safely ensconced with his muggle relatives. Incensed, Ron laughed loudly. "Harry? Sure, he's won before, but all he has is luck. Where is his skill?"

Hermione hit Ron, silencing him, and Harry merely glared, but most of the students seemed to share Ron's beliefs. Astonished that the young mister Weasley had turned against his friend so, Professor McGonagal contended herself with saying, "He has been having lessons from a great tutor."

Astonished, his friends and year mates stared at him. "Why didn't you tell us you were having lessons?" Hermione whispered, while Harry merely stared at the Professor, wondering how she knew his secret.

Resolving to save that mystery for a less dangerous time, Harry returned his attention to the students. "Very well," he said, leaving no room for disagreement. "From my calculations, the wards will fall within the next five minutes. I would like everyone under seventeen to quietly move all the younger students to the rear of the train, since the Death Eaters seem to be focused up here. When the wards break, quietly open the windows and doors and help _everyone_ escape into the forest. Hopefully, they'll be safe there until the Aurors come or the battle is over.

"Can any of you perform disillusionment charms?" A dozen students raised their hands, mostly members of the DA. "Excellent. Try and disillusion as many of the students as possible, it'll help keep them safe. _Do not_ attempt to join us under _any_ circumstances - your job is more important. That includes you, Ginevra." A red-headed girl glared at him, but he ignored her, asking them all if his instructions were clear. Nodding, the students filed out, leaving behind just under forty seventh year students and the five staff members.

"What now?" Neville asked, "We don't outnumber them any more!"

Harry sighed. "I know, Neville, but it's the only way. Otherwise we'll lose the younger years, and we can't let that happen. Dumbledore has his ways; he'll be here soon enough. We just have to hold them off until he gets here with the order. Can we do that?"

Resolutely, his companions nodded, and Harry continued. "You six," he began, pointing out Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Eloise Midgen, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, "Cover their retreat. That means climbing on the roof and distracting anyone from looking in that direction." The six girls nodded and moved next to the windows, ready to climb the moment the wards broke.

"As for the rest of us, we're going to attack the Death Eaters head on. They'll be temporarily confused when the wards break, we'll have to be quick to take advantage of that. Draco, Ron, Professors, we'll lead the charge, try to divert the enemy so the others can attack. Don't kill anyone if you can avoid it – we want them live and interrogated. Is that clear?"

Students and teachers alike nodded, grasping their wands firmly in their hands. "Then go!" Harry shouted as the wards broke, the shock wave hurling many of the Death Eaters backwards. Without wasting a moment, Harry plunged through the nearest window, with the rest of the students behind him, each determined not to go down without a fight. After all, it was not only themselves they were protecting – it was the future of the Wizarding World.

**Review Responses:**

Thanks TC, hyouden.

KlondikeBar: Well, I'll try to impress you, then :)

Strega: Ah, but we are seeing this primarily from Harry's point of view, and therefore we don't always hear what Severus means. When he says Harry reminds him of someone, there is almost no one positive for him to be reminded of. He is, in fact, being reminded of himself.

There's more to Severus' meeting of Harry, but you'll only learn Severus' side slowly. After all, he's hardly going to reveal all his secrets straight away ;) Go Snape! D


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

The silence following the blast did not last long, and as the students moved away from the train, spells began to fly from all directions. Time became a blur to Harry, as he ducked and dodged with the best of them, bringing down many of his enemy. _Stupefy_ red, _Avada-Kedavra_ green, _Reducto_ white, _Protego_ blue, all blended into a maelstrom of colour and light, a sight almost beautiful but for its danger.

At one time, Harry sent a last-minute _Petrificus_ to a figure approaching Neville from behind. Minutes later,Hermione's hastily-raised physical block was the only thing standing between Harry and _Crucio_. Harry watched fellow students Ernie MacMillan and Terry Boot fall, even as he incapacitated Nott and Avery. At one time, he spied Bellatrix Lestrange, but a near-miss from Malfoy Senior's _Avada_ made him lose her in the madness.

Time seemed at once to have stopped while moving at a rapid rate, so Harry could no longer tell how long he had been fighting. At some stage, he noticed that one of the teachers had fallen, he couldn't tell which. All he knew was the heat of the battle.

Eventually, the telltale _crack_ announced the arrival of Dumbledore and the Order, followed by numerous Aurors. The death eaters beat a hasty retreat, and the remaining students wearily returned to the train to regroup and revive.

As the forest returned to silence, the only remnants of the battle lying in the scorch marks on the trees and the bodies marking the floor, Dumbledore approached Harry as he tended a gash on his arm, unnoticed during the rush of battle. "Harry," he began in annoyance, "Why did you lead them into this?"

Shocked and angered, Harry released the bandage and stood to face his headmaster, their height now almost equal. "Why did I _what_, Dumbledore? Why did I defend my fellow students? Why did I bring down several of the enemy for questioning? Why did I organise a plan that left us with only eight casualties? _What?"_

"Why did you endanger yourself, Harry! You are not to risk yourself in skirmishes and minor battles, we _need_ you!"

"_Minor? **Minor?**_Most of the school could have _died_ today, and you call this _minor?_ Does human life really mean that little to you?"

"Of course not, Harry. It's just that I don't want you to be hurt." Dumbledore reached out a hand as if to pat Harry's arm, but Harry drew away.

"Don't pretend you care about me, Dumbledore. Not now, not after making me act the coward, after expecting me to act your pawn. This is _my war_, Dumbledore. And you _will not_ prevent me from fighting it."

Angry now, Dumbledore retorted, "You're a student Harry, and my job is to protect you."

Harry scoffed. "What, like you protected Ernie and Susan and Terry Boot? Like you protect Neville and Ron as they fight your skirmishes? Like you protected Sirius, trapping him in Grimmauld Place until he would do _anything_ to see the sun? Is that what you call protecting? Because it's not what I would."

"Harry…"

Harry breathed deeply, clearing his mind in order to preserve his composure. Now was not the time to blow up at the Head of the Order. "Headmaster… I want to help. You can see how much I did today, anyone could tell you. Why won't you let me participate?"

"It's for your safety, Harry. Now, come along and join the other students, we've made portkeys to take you all to Hogwarts." Sighing in reluctant compliance, Harry allowed himself to be led back to the group of children he had saved, children he seemed cursed to be thought of as part of.

As Harry left on one of the first portkeys, Draco Malfoy watched after him in awe.

Harry did not attend the banquet that evening, despite it being in his honour, Dumbledore's futile attempt at reconciliation with his weapon. He was still too furious with Dumbledore's treatment of the situation to be comfortable in his presence, let alone smile like the Gryffindor Golden Boy he was supposed to be.

Instead, Harry was making his way through the dungeons, towards his private room. He was eager to see his angel again, so eager that his swift stalk nearly morphed into a run, were it not for his sense of dignity. Mentally anticipating the coming conversation, hoping to have pleased his angel with his fighting skills – somehow, his angel always seemed to know what happened, and Harry had long since ceased questioning his seeming omniscience – Harry almost didn't hear the voice calling from behind him.

Slowly turning, impatience evident in every centimetre of his tense body, he raised an eyebrow at the blond figure calmly leaning against the dungeon wall. "Malfoy," he said tersely, nodding at his fellow student. Though Malfoy's defection to the light had halted the hostility between them, lack of contact had left them as neither friends nor enemies, leaving Harry confused as to what the Slytherin wanted.

Draco remained silent, waiting for Harry to ask why he was there. Harry, for his part, refused to give in to the other boy's wishes, despite his nagging desire to leave. Eventually, the battle of wills began to grate on his nerves, and with a long-suffering sigh, he gave in. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy smirked, and replied, "Who says I want something, Potter? Maybe I'm just interested in what our dear saviour is doing down here in the dank Slytherin dungeons."

"Who says it's your business, Malfoy?" Harry replied in annoyance. How had he let himself become careless enough to be seen? In annoyance, he turned to leave, but a hand grabbed his arm just above the gash, causing him to wince in pain. _"What?"_ he snapped out, his irritation growing by the minute.

"Look…" Malfoy began hesitantly, "I'm sorry."

Harry turned around and waited, an inquiring look on his face. He had never before heard Malfoy say sorry and mean it, and he was filled with curiosity as to the other boy's intentions.

"It's not my place to keep you from what you're doing, but… well, we've barely talked since sixth year, and… I wanted to know if we can try again?" Draco's voice sounded hesitant; as if he was almost afraid he would be refused.

"Pardon?" Harry asked, shock clearly evident on his face.

"Potter, I admire your skill in battle today, you're definitely a power to be reckoned with. And I can see how the way the Gryffindors treat you is getting on your nerves, you barely seem to have any friends anymore. I haven't really had anyone to talk to since I defected, and no one else seems to notice how you've changed, except for me. So I was wondering if, maybe, you might like to talk some time?"

"So, in other words, you think I'm another lonely Slytherin like you, and you want to be friends?" Harry's only visible sign of the shock he felt was the widening of his eyes, but it took him some time to consider what Malfoy had said. On the one hand, he had his angel as a confidant, and Malfoy had never really shown himself to be a friendly person. But on the other hand, he thought it would be nice to have someone his age, someone who was experiencing this war with him, someone who he could laugh with and go to the pub rather than just training and the occasional conversation. And there was something in Draco's eyes that seemed sincere, as if he really _wanted_ to be Harry's friend. Not the Golden Boy-Who-Lived, but simple Harry Potter. And that meant the world.

His mind made up, he looked up to the other boy, emerald green eyes meeting slate grey. Extending a hand, he smiled and said, "The name's Harry – just Harry. It's nice to meet you."

Warmly returning Harry's smile, Draco clasped the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. "The pleasure's all mine, Harry. Call me Draco."

The two boys grinned at each other, before Harry reluctantly broke the handshake. "Well, Draco," he said, placing particular emphasis on the other boy's name, "I'm glad that we got this resolved, and I'm looking forward to having someone interesting to talk with again, but I really do have to go. Save me a seat in potions tomorrow, and we can talk some more."

"Sure, Harry. Saving you from Granger is the least I can do." The two boys laughed; now that Draco no longer intended it as an insult, Harry could appreciate how annoying his friend was to the rest of the school.

Smiling warmly for the first time this term, Harry turned to walk down the corridor, a new lift in his step. Just before he turned the corner, he heard Draco call after him. "It was a brilliant battle today! You're an excellent wizard, Harry!"

Grinning at the first honest compliment all day, Harry shouted back, "Thanks Draco!" before rounding the corner and making his way back to the room, whistling slightly. With the successful battle and a new friendship, as well as finally escaping the hated Dursleys, it was turning out to be a great day. All he needed now was to spend time with his Angel.

As Harry turned the knob on the plain wooden door, he heard the sound of a voice echoing through the stone room. _Bravi, bravi, bravissimi…_

Smiling slightly, Harry called out, "Is that you, Angel?"

_You did well, my child, _the voice replied as he moved to stand before the silver mirror, staring at his reflection, still dirty and worn from the battle earlier.

"Thankyou, Angel," he replied happily, ecstatic to have received his angel's approval. These days, he wanted little more.

Come, child, tell me all. Where did you learn that amazing shield spell? 

"I was practicing during the holidays, Angel," he replied hesitantly. "I wanted to make you proud of me. Do you approve? Are you happy?" His usually strong emerald eyes seemed almost pleading, and even his angel was not moved.

Chuckling, the voice replied, _Do not fret, my child. You have made me very proud._

All Harry could do was smile.

But who was that pale boy with you before, child? You do not speak of me, do you? 

The angel seemed almost worried, afraid he would be found out. Puzzled, Harry replied, "No, he's just a friend of mine, he wanted to congratulate me," he replied, somewhat surprised at how easily the word 'friend' came to me. Muttering under his breath, he added, "Not like anyone else did."

The voice came softly now, almost like a caress. _Do not fret, child, they simply do not understand you. You are above them, and it scares them, so they try to place you below them._

"But I _am_ below them, Angel! They're heroes, they fight, I just stay here, doing nothing." Harry wrapped his arms around himself, lost in the accusatory words of his classmates and friends.

No, Harry, you are beyond their comprehension. You are powerful, you are strong, you are smart… they just have yet to see it.

"Really?" Harry asked.

Really, the voice replied.

"You know," Harry began thoughtfully, "It means more when you tell me thanwhen Draco did."

Insolent boy… 

"Pardon?" Harry asked, confused. Why was he insolent? What had he said?

Not you, the Malfoy boy. He wants to share in your triumph, gain your trust, and then use you to further his own ends.

"No, Angel, how can you say that? Draco's a good guy, he's on the side of light! And he really did want to congratulate me."

Why, Harry? Was not one of the first things he said that you were a power to be reckoned with?

"Well… yes…"

I do not want to hurt you, Harry, but it is highly likely he wants you for your power, for your prestige. Malfoys do not understand love.

"But he's not like his father, Angel! He's a good guy… he likes me… he likes _Harry!_"

_Malfoys are very talented actors, Harry. His father was not so different to him, once…_ the voice trailed off, as if becoming lost in memories. But what sort of memories does an angel have?

"Why don't you like Malfoys, Angel?" Harry enquired, curious.

_That is a story for another time, my child. But trust me, you would be better to never talk to the Malfoy boy again. I don't want you to get hurt…_ the voice continued, almost lovingly.

"Very well, Angel," Harry acquiesced. He knew that his Angel only ever wanted what was best for him, and ever since he lost Sirius, there seemed to be very few who shared that sentiment.

Come, Harry, enough of the Malfoy boy. It is time for our lesson, yes? 

"Yes, Angel." Harry began to pull his spellbooks out of his bag, including some rare ones he had only found in this very room. Amazing, how the books he needed always seemed to be there, waiting for him… yet another of his Angel's mysterious skills, he figured.

"Well," he began, "I was looking at Pirazi's mirror spell, but I can never seem to control the angle of reflection-"

_Harry…_ the voice began, interrupting his train of thought.

"What is it, Angel? I thought you wanted us to study?"

Yes, Harry… 

Confused, Harry asked, "Then why are you stopping me?"

Harry, you have been an excellent student, but there is little else I can teach you without being physically present.

"Oh," Harry said, sadly. He had begun to believe his angel was a ghost, it was the only explanation for his absence from the map. If there was nothing else to teach him, he may as well leave…

"But I don't _want_ to leave you, Angel!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to be tutored by anyone but you! You're my only friend…"

_No, Harry, that's not what I meant…_ the voice hastily contradicted, as if the idea of losing Harry upset him.

"Then what?" Harry asked, his voice shaky from sadness.

You are a good student, a loyal student, and I feel as if I know you as well as I know myself. It is time to return the favour, my child.

"Pardon?"

Look at your face in the mirror, Harry. I am there, inside… 

Almost hypnotically, Harry placed his books on the ground, and moved so he was facing the mirror, about a foot away. As he stared at the mirror, he could almost make out the shape of a face, masked in black…

Turning, he looked for the source of the reflection. No one. Returning his attention to the mirror, he reached out his hand, as if to touch the phantom face. As his fingers brushed against what he thought was glass, they began to sink as if in some sort of liquid.

Confused, Harry removed his fingers, before replacing them. _Come, Harry,_ the voice murmured and, taking a deep breath, Harry pressed forward and through the glassy substance, leaving no trace behind.

Thirty minutes later, after having his fill of dinner, Draco began to wonder what had happened to Harry. Sure, he had said he had something to do, but surely the Gryffindor wouldn't miss dinner for it. He hadn't done it before… maybe he was in trouble!

Worried now, Draco silently left the table, before retracing his steps to the place where he and the other boy met. Following the footprints through the dusty floors of a long-abandoned wing, Draco came upon a simple wooden door, which the steps approached but did not leave.

Knocking gently, Draco asked, "Harry, are you in there?"

No response.

"Harry?" he tried again, and when his friend failed once more to respond, he shrugged and opened the door. Maybe Harry had fallen asleep… or maybe there was another door…

But when Draco entered the room, all he saw were four walls, a pile of books next to a bag he recognised all too well, and a shimmering silver mirror. Harry Potter had vanished.

**Review Responses:**

e-scape-goat: Thanks for the long review ) I checked out a couple of your stories – gotta love the severitus challenges ;)

To answer your questions, as you can see, Harry also thought that Snape was a ghost. But the Marauder's map only contains rooms that the marauders found, and they never found the passageways beyond the dungeon (including just behind the mirror) where Severus lives. Besides, they're Gryffindors – why would they _want_ to explore the dungeons?

McGonagal knows Snape because she was the one teacher who tried to stop the Marauders, and she's his contact with the world above. He needs some way to send his demands to Dumbledore and such, after all.

As for Ron, well… Severus will teach him a lesson, we'll just say that. And the teacher's didn't lock Harry in the dungeons or anything, he's a normal student, he's just not allowed to go on raids. That upsets Harry – dunno why, I'd hate having to go on raids shrugs. But you know Harry and his saving-people thing.

Guava-juice: Thanks, I'm glad you like it.

Strega: Actually, Ron's a Piangi of sorts, though all the characters are strange mixes (Dumbledore's both Carlotta and the managers, for example… hehehe…). Draco is our Raoul, and he's going to be better than the real Raoul, so he can be a legitimate love interest for our dear Harry… Raoul in the musical and book is just such a FOP!

Angel of the Carpathians: Now, why would I tell you that? No one will know until the very last chapter D


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

Without a single thought for the people he left behind, Harry followed after his tutor through the unknown world beneath the school, passages which had been forgotten for centuries. He had expected the dungeons to be dark, dank, even terrifying, covered in moss and chains and old remnants of blood. Probably the result of years of horror movies, he couldn't help but think.

But the dungeons were not dark; rather, bright torches lined every wall, the flickers of shadow and light giving the passageways an almost unearthly glow. Instead of cold, mossy stone, the walls were smooth and clean, not so different to those of the rest of the castle, though newer looking through lack of use. Peering closer, Harry noticed that the walls were engraved with fine, elaborate markings, tiny engravings that must have taken years to complete. The delicate lines were hard to see in places, eroding through the passages of the years, but those Harry could discern showed amazing scenes. Beauty and terror, snakes and lions, grassy fields and dark forests; under the flickering torchlight, the artwork almost seemed to come alive under his fingertips as he raptly traced the intricate designs.

Fascinated, he did not realise that he had stopped following, and nor did he hear the quiet fall of footsteps approaching. A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him from his reverie, and he quickly turned to defend himself, wand drawn and at the ready. Spying only the black-cloaked shape of his tutor, he smiled sheepishly at his lack of focus. Had he been in a battle, or indeed anywhere outside the safety of Hogwarts' walls, he could have died before he even noticed the danger.

The deep obsidian eyes of his angel looked down in disappointment from behind the white mask, and Harry looked down in shame. After all his hard work to gain his tutor's approval, he had thrown it all away in a moment of unthinking carelessness. He opened his mouth to begin to apologise, but a single raised finger silenced him.

As Harry awaited the inevitable lecture, he instead saw the figure smile slightly, the faint smile of one who has little to smile about. Harry had to strain to catch his next words, as the angel muttered almost to himself. "They are beautiful, are they not? Amazing, such beauty in a place where one expects only terror and ugliness." The voice drifted off into thoughtful silence, and the two stood for some minutes before Harry dared disturb him from his musings.

"Angel?" he asked hesitantly, yet slightly less afraid after the surprising show of humanity. "I should have been paying more attention, I shouldn't have let myself be distracted, I know that I need to have constant vigilance…"

His eyes once more focused on Harry, the Angel interrupted his rambling apologies. "The engravings are indeed enthralling, I myself spent many hours gazing at them when I first came here. They are a small spot of beauty in this dark domain and, if all goes well, you will see them many more times. But at the moment, we need to continue on our journey, lest we run out of time. There is much yet left to learn tonight, child."

Full of joy at the thought he would come here again, and that his Angel was not angry with him, Harry quietly followed the dark figure's sweeping stride through ever more twisting corridors, a maze through which he knew he could never find his way alone. In this world beneath the school, he was completely reliant on his angel. Yet, somehow, that thought did not bother him. After their months of friendship, Harry knew that his angel was the one person he could trust completely.

Eventually, their steps led them to the edge of a large lake, pitch black in the darkness of the underground cavern. Far beneath the dungeons now, Harry couldn't help but be curious as to how the water came to be there, so far from any visible source. Indeed, the cavern itself was improbable, housing such a huge weight above it, one that would surely crush it. Raising his voice as if to compensate for the overpowering silence of the area, he asked the barely visible figure why it was there.

"I do not know," the figure replied, still staring at the obsidian waters. "This area was built long before my time, likely when the castle was first built. From the huge libraries and the nature of the dwellings, however, I assume it was built by Rowena Ravenclaw." At Harry's shocked look, he added, "Surely you did not think Salazar was the only founder to build a secret place?"

"I… never really thought about it," Harry replied, slightly embarrassed. After all, he _had_ been the one to discover Slytherin's chamber and claim Gryffindor's sword, surely he might have thought more about the founders. But history had never really interested him.

"Well, Binns has never been a good teacher, and _A History of Hogwarts_ is a rather dry tome, so I don't suppose many people have developed an interest for the topic, " the angel replied, as if having read Harry's mind. "But with so many years alone down here, I have had little else to do but study and learn. From what I can gather, Rowena created this place to be a refuge for her Ravenclaws, where they could discover _all_ knowledge, rather than merely that in the Hogwarts library or that permitted by the idiots in the ministry."

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "But I thought Ravenclaw was a good witch. Why would she condone her students learning dark magic? Why would she want them to spend time in such a dark place, rather than among their classmates and friends?"

The angel smiled, though Harry could not see it in the darkness. "Still a Gryffindor, I see. Harry, you should know by now that just because the ministry classifies certain knowledge as bad, it is not necessarily the case. Magic is neither good nor bad; it is the user's intent that makes it so. Rowena merely wanted to give her students all the knowledge possible. Knowledge is power, you know."

"You're right, Angel," Harry replied, slightly ashamed of his prejudiced comment. "Just like there's nothing wrong with being sly, cunning and ambitious, there's nothing wrong with knowing. It's the desire to harm and destroy that's wrong."

"Exactly." Proud of his student's growth over the past year, the angel reached out to grasp his hand, leading him into the waiting boat. Harry's hand was small against his long artist's fingers, dirty and callused with bitten nails and stubby digits. Staring at the two hands, Harry couldn't help but notice how different they were, how perfect his angel seemed to be. Every move filled with focus, every action determined, every segment of his body calm and controlled, and full of beauty. So why did he have to wear that mask?

The boat docked against a stony beach, and with a silent wave the angel lit a thousand candles, surrounding the now sparkling lake and revealing a house. Well, Harry revised, maybe 'mansion' was a better word for it, for it was huge, with marble fronting like a greek forum or a library or something.

A library. Of _course_. Where else would Ravenclaw keep her stores of books?

A gentle touch to a statue of an eagle opened the door, and the two figures walked down the purple carpets past rooms upon rooms filled with books. As they passed, Harry thought he saw an arena out of the corner of his eye, with a dueling platform just like the one they used in second year, but they were past it before he could take a second look. Almost running to keep up with his angel's longer legs, he nevertheless found time to ask, "What's the point of this library, though? There've been so many new developments in spells over the years, that a lot of this is pretty much redundant."

"Rowena Ravenclaw was the smartest witch of her age, child. Does it surprise you that she has charms in place so that a copy of every book written turns up here, even those unpublished? If one knew where to look, one could find almost anything one could ever want to read. Even muggle literature, if you so desired."

"Amazing," Harry replied softly, filled with new appreciation for the other founders. "So if Ravenclaw created a hidden self-updating library and Slytherin left a monster to purge muggleborns and I guess information for the secret rituals Voldemort did, what did the other two founders leave?"

"Well, you know that Hufflepuff was the most gentle of the founders, so she developed a secret greenhouse and supply room. It has been known to many Hogwarts nurses over the years, though they take an oath not to share the information. Why do you think the skills of Hogwarts nurses are always so respected? It is not so common for a school nurse to be chosen over those at a hospital."

Harry pondered the answer for a moment, realising how many Madame Pomphrey had healed over the years, without ever seeming to buy potions outside school. Surely the Potions professor could not produce that many, after all. Finally, though, he voiced the question most on his mind. "What of Gryffindor. If I'm his heir, shouldn't I be able to access something? Some way to help me against Slytherin?"

"I do believe that Gryffindor left behind an armoury, where I have no doubt that extremely gaudy sword in Dumbledore's office comes from."

"You've seen the sword?" Harry asked in shock. As far as he knew, no one could get into Dumbledore's office without permission, and before he found it, it had been in the hat. How could his angel have seen it, unless he was as old as the founders.

"No, I'm not that old, Harry." At Harry's shocked expression, he amusedly added, "And no, I'm not reading your mind, you know that your occlumency skill prevents that. You have been practicing, have you not?"

"Yes, of course, angel! I wouldn't let fifth year happen again, you know that!"

"I know, Harry," the older man replied soothingly as he placed a comforting hand on his students arm. "I just know you, Harry. You'll always wear your heart on your sleeve. But no, I am a living man, I was born long after the founders passed away. But just as Slytherin's serpent made his way around the school, so too can I. There are legions of secret passages that your father never discovered, and I know them all. If I truly wish, there is nowhere I cannot go."

"Amazing. I always thought the marauder's map showed everywhere in the school, but there is so much here that I had no idea of. There must be almost half the school in this underground lair and passages."

"Probably, yes. The marauders map only shows places your father and his cronies could find. It doesn't show the Chamber of Secrets, after all."

"You're right." Casting his mind back to the rest of the conversation, he remembered one shocking statement. "Wait, you mean you're human? You're mortal? Why didn't you tell me, why did you tell me you were an angel?"

"Harry. Harry!" Harry calmed down, letting his angel respond. "I never told you I was an angel, I merely told you to call me that. Am I not helping you? Have I not brought you to my home, where none other has ever come? Have I not always been good to you? Why are you angered?"

"I'm sorry, angel," Harry apologised. "It's just, I've always been so honest with you, I've told you things I told no one else. And now I discovered that you've never really told me anything about yourself. It's just a bit of a shock, you know?"

"I know, Harry. It's alright, I'm not upset. You have every right to be curious, after so much time together. Why don't we sit down, and I'll tell you what I can. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Opening a pale blue door a few metres down the corridor, the angel led Harry into a small yet cosy room. It was furnished mostly in shades of blue and silver, with a comfortable-looking blue couch next to an elaborate fireplace with designs of water, matching the many ocean scenes on the walls. Lighting the fire with a muttered _inferno_, the angel sat down and beckoned to Harry to join him. Slightly uncomfortable in the strange room, despite his tutor's clear familiarity, Harry sat slightly stiffly, waiting for his tutor to speak and yet afraid of what he'd hear, afraid of destroying his angel's aura of awe and power in the face of such knowledge.

The older man was quiet for a time, content to gaze into the flickering flames, but at the sight of Harry's discomfort, he knew he needed to make the first move. Sighing, he quietly said, "Harry, I know it's a shock, but I'm still the same person. I'm not going to hurt you, just because I'm a man like you. I'm not going to leave you, now you know my secret. Nothing's going to happen. I won't tell you anything if you don't want to know, I'm perfectly happy to stay like this."

Comforted, Harry looked over at his angel; the now familiar black robes, the porcelain mask that made his fingers itch to see what lay beneath, the enthralling black eyes. Eyes that now failed to hide his pain. Startled, Harry realised that his angel was just like him, a human, alone. And though he didn't want to drive Harry away, it was clear he yearned for someone to talk to, just as Harry had once yearned, before his angel came to him.

Smiling warmly, Harry leaned back against the soft couch, reaching out a hand to gently touch his angel's arm. "I know, I want to know. You're my best friend, angel, and I want to know everything about you. I want to be able to be as good to you as you've been to me." Looking up at his angel's hesitant eyes, still afraid, Harry uttered a single, "Please?"

Unable to deny those pleading emerald eyes, the older man sighed in acquiescence, before beginning. "First of all, my name is Severus Snape."

"Severus…" Harry smiled. "It is a nice name, it suits you. Dark, mysterious, and alluring."

Severus laughed, before continuing his story. "I'm probably about twenty years older than you, I was in the same grade as your parents."

Excited, Harry began to ply him with questions. "Were you friends with them? What were their favourite colours? What were their jobs? Did Dad really win Gryffindor the quidditch cup? Was Mum actually a Gryffindor? Nobody really tells me much about my parents…" he trailed off, when he saw the resigned look in Severus' eyes. "What's wrong, angel?"

"You can call me, Severus, Harry. And no, I wasn't their friend. I was a Slytherin."

Harry saw Severus brace himself, as if afraid of his reaction, and hesitantly put an arm around the older man. "Did you think I'd hate you, Ang… Severus? Just because you're a Slytherin, doesn't change the fact that you're my angel and my friend."

"Thankyou Harry," Severus replied, smiling warmly and returning the younger man's hug. "You're just the first Gryffindor I've met to show that sort of acceptance for a slimy Slytherin."

"Well, if you can put up with a reckless Gryffindor, it can't be so hard." The two men smiled at each other, before Harry ventured a question. "So, if you were in my Dad's year, how did you end up down here? Why does no one speak about you?"

The room seemed to grow chilly, as Severus withdrew from the embrace. "There was an accident," he began coldly, "and that is all I will tell you." Engrossed in obviously unhappy memories, it took Harry's warm hand to bring the Slytherin back to reality.

"It's alright, angel, I won't pry. Everyone's allowed their secrets. Just promise me you'll tell me one day?"

"One day, Harry. One day."

For many hours they sat together in comfortable silence but for the occasional quiet question, Harry's head resting on Severus' shoulder and their arms around each other while they gazed into the blazing fire. And as Harry slowly drifted off to sleep in the warm embrace of his friend, for one time in his life he felt completely safe.

**Authors Note:**

Well, this chapter didn't turn out exactly as I intended it to, in fact all the stuff about the founder's rooms only popped into my mind halfway through the chapter. I'd actually planned to make Severus and Harry duel, to show Severus as Harry's trainer, but the characters felt otherwise. It's amazing, how stories just take control and write themselves… but I'm getting sidetracked.

**Review Responses:**

Thanks Hyouden, valanthe and Shadowed Rains. Always nice to know it's liked.

Angel of the Carpathians, I haven't read any of those so-called continuations/sequels, only the original by Gaston Leroux, so I'm afraid I wouldn't know. But isn't Phantom of the Paradise a modernisation? I thought Susan Kay's stuff were the more acknowledged follow-ups. But I could be wrong.

Strega: Yeah, Snape singing would be weird… still, considering his speaking voice, he'd probably have a lovely bass voice… but I doubt he'd use it. Too undignified. I'm trying to make Draco and Snape BOTH deserve Harry's love in some ways, but have other things that drive him away, so it's hard for him (and us) to choose. I mean, we can't forget that the Phantom (in the original) had a shocking temper and tendencies towards violence, murder and manipulation.

As for Dumbledore, I'm still undecided about him. I mean, I've read some very good Manipulative!Dumbledore fics, and his actions could definitely be construed that way. But I also see a lot of support for Human!Dumbledore, who tries to do his best but simply makes mistakes, as we all do. (Daddy's favourite is very good, I think it's by dzeytoun) After all, he is 150! So I can see him both ways. Still, manipulative Dumbledore works better for this fic, so that's how he'll be. I wonder if he'll see the error of his ways?


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

The first thing Harry noticed as he awoke was the silence. Ever since first year, Seamus had snored like some sort of wild animal, and he had grown accustomed to it, to the point of almost needing it to sleep. To awake in silence was disconcerting. It wasn't like Seamus to awake before Harry; indeed, Harry tended to awake before everyone else. So either Harry had slept in, or Seamus had woken up early. Either way, Harry was worried.

Eyes still groggy from sleep, Harry reached out to push aside the heavy curtains around the bed, only to discover thin air. Jolting awake in the shock, he forced his eyes to open and examine his surroundings. First Seamus was gone, and now his bed had been changed. Where could he be? For all he knew, he could have been kidnapped by Voldemort.

But as he looked around the unfamiliar room, furnished mostly in Ravenclaw blues and silvers, and allowed himself to feel the soft comfort of the bed in which he lay – much bigger than those in the Gryffindor dorms – he slowly began to relax. Voldemort wouldn't house him like this, would he? Surely he would much rather keep him in some cold, wet dungeon. But if that was the case, then where was he? For he was sure he had never seen this room before in his life.

Continuing his observations, he noticed that the room almost seemed to have been made for him. There, in the walk-in closets, were numerous sets of robes and muggle clothing that looked exactly his size. There, on the bookshelf, a collection of Defence books, with what looked to be a row on quidditch near the top. And on the bedside table, was that a picture of his Godfather?

Rubbing his eyes in shock, he confirmed to himself that it was. _This is weird_. Then, just as he prepared to examine the photo more closely, he noticed the dark figure on the chair beside his bed. _How did I not notice him before?_ he wondered, noticing how the figure seemed to blend in with the shadows. Then the man – for he somehow _knew_ it was a man – shifted in his sleep, giving Harry the sight of a porcelain mask, seemingly adhered to his face.

Suddenly, memories of the night before came rushing back. This man, this _human_ man, was his angel, and this was the Secret Library, for lack of a better name. He remembered finding out about the founder's rooms, and sitting on the couch in the library, where his angel told him his name. Severus. He must have carried him to this room after he fell asleep, and stayed near to watch him. Surprised, Harry realised that he had slept without nightmares for the first night in months.

Seeing his angel's hair falling in his face, Harry reached out to push it back, when his fingers touched the edge of the white mask. He began to draw them away, remembering how cold Severus had become when he asked him about his secrets… then stopped. His angel was perfect, always so controlled, so graceful, so elegant. What could he be hiding?

Succumbing to his curiosity, Harry reached out once more and pulled the mask from his teacher's face. At that moment, an arm lashed out to grab his wrist, and two black eyes shot open and glared at him in abject fury. "So," his angel hissed in anger, as Harry cowered before him, "You wish to see what the great Severus Snape hides behind his mask, do you? Then _look!"_

His hand twisted Harry's wrist, dragging him before his visage. Harry's only coherent thought was that the mask must be holding a glamour, for his deformities covered more than just that area. But faced with the horrifically mutilated face, all Harry could do was stare. One eye had been completely destroyed, the remaining socket caved in, while half his ear was bitten off. The nose, so straight and aquiline, was crooked like a hawk's, bent and battered as if it had been broken and never properly reset. Horrific scars marked his face and neck, and his skin was as pale as snow, from too many years underground. His hair, so silky and black, was missing in one place, where horrific bitemarks showed clearly on his forehead. In short, Harry felt he was looking upon a monster.

"So," Severus spat, as he saw Harry's fear and disgust, "Is this what you wanted to see? Are you happy now, planning on returning to your precious Gryffindors and telling them that you've seen a monster?"

"Angel, you're hurting me!" Harry cried, as the grip on his arm grew more fierce.

Ignoring him, Severus continued his rant. "Well, look your fill, for now you can never escape me! _This,_" he beckoned with hatred towards his face, "Is what you'll be cursed with every day for your whole life. Was it worth it? _WAS IT WORTH IT?"_

Severus flung Harry against the far wall, and the Gryffindor landed in a heap on the floor, sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated continually, as he curled up as if to avoid a beating, looking at the older man with terror in his eyes.

Watching him weep, Severus realised what he'd done, and collapsed back into the armchair. Yes, Harry had been rude, but Severus had always known that he was curious, that this was bound to happen one day. Monsters like him were not meant to have friends.

As a tear trickled down his face, he slowly put the mask back on, hiding his gruesome face so as not to scare his pupil any more. Gently, he placed one hand on the still sobbing forms back, and rubbed gently until the Gryffindor calmed down. "Sh, Harry, I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you, I would never hurt you, you know that."

As he saw the boy's bruises on arm and back, he winced in pain. Here he was, no better than the Dursleys, hurting an innocent boy. He didn't deserve his friendship. Lifting the boy back to his feet, he resigned himself to an eternity of loneliness. There was no way Harry would want to talk to him again. But it wouldn't be fair to keep him down here in the darkness.

Sighing, he wiped the tears from Harry's eyes and took him by the hand, apparating the two of them back to the passage behind the mirror, and gently pushing him through. Sadly, he said, "Go, Dumbledore will be missing you," and returned to the dungeons before the younger man could reply. He was afraid of what he would hear.

Slowly, lethargically, Harry made his lonely way back up to the Gryffindor dorms. The happiness he had felt the night before seemed but a distant memory, and all he could feel was pain. Why, _why_ had he let his curiosity get the better of him again? He knew he shouldn't have looked behind the mask, knew his angel would have been wearing it for a reason, but he just _had_ to go and look.

He was so _stupid!_

And then, the way he reacted. Sure, it was shocking to discover how deformed his angel was, even a bit scary. But to feel disgust, even for a split second? Harry was full of shame. He knew he deserved every harsh word, every bruise, every hateful glare. His angel wasn't a monster, despite his horrible face, but a good man, a kind man, a friend. _Harry _was the monster. He had hurt his only friend, invaded his privacy, and now he had lost him forever. And he couldn't blame anyone but himself.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, he slowly made his way through Gryffindor tower and collapsed in sobs on his bed, so different to the one he had woken in that morning. And as the sun began to dawn, the aching loneliness and regret in his heart gave way into a restless, tormented sleep.

Harry went to breakfast with his dormmates that day, sitting quietly at the Gryffindor table as he nibbled on a piece of dry toast, pretending a hunger he did not feel. He followed them along to class, quietly doing what he was told without complaint. Ron was glad that Harry was no longer trying to overshadow him; indeed, Harry had trouble with some of the simplest charms, which Ron only took as further proof of his superiority. Seeing his distracted and emotionless gaze, the school generally assumed that the Boy-Who-Lived once again considered himself above the rest of them, not even bothering to pay attention. Not like that Ronald Weasley, always performing the practicals so well. By the end of the day, everyone had completely forgotten Harry's masterful showing on the previous day, putting it down to a fluke or someone else's help.

Everyone, that is, except Draco.

When his new friend didn't even look at him during breakfast, he was worried. Hadn't they promised to talk? But no, Harry ignored him just like everyone else, following his routine without any thought, and as Ron and the school grew annoyed, Draco grew concerned. He had watched Harry for almost all of their schooling, and Harry had always shown amazing focus in classes, as if he desperately needed to know everything he could. Harry _always_ participated with the Gryffindors, if only to feel like he belonged even as his friends slowly drifted away. Harry _never_ got himself into situations where he would lose Gryffindor house points without a reason. Even Professor McGonagal had taken points from him today for his distraction!

As Draco watched Harry go about his routine, he realized that Harry looked like the walking dead, or like there was no reason left to try. There was something terribly wrong with his Gryffindor friend.

Thus it was that after the final class of the day, Draco waited outside the room for McGonagal to finish her lecture, rather than following his housemates to the dinner table. Harry needed to talk to someone, and since none of his so-called 'friends' noticed anything wrong, it was up to him. And to be honest, Draco didn't mind the idea of being Harry's confidant.

As Harry walked through the door, eyes blank as always, Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty classroom. Trying to get a rise out of him, Draco started to taunt him, asking him whether he thought he was too good to pay attention to classes, saying he was destined to lose against Voldemort, but no spark of anger showed in the gryffindor's eyes. All the other boy emotionlessly responded was, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"_Malfoy?"_ Draco asked, surprised. Surely Harry hadn't forgotten yesterday's conversation already? And yet, this Harry was so different from the bright, excited boy he had encountered the other night.

Grabbing Harry by the shoulders, Draco began to shake him, staring into the lifeless green eyes as he asked, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you, Harry! You've been walking around like a zombie all day. What happened to you last night?"

"Nothing," the Gryffindor replied coldly, as he tried to shake Draco's hands from his shoulders. "Just leave me alone."

"Did someone hurt you, Harry? Was it the Gryffindors, is that why you're ignoring them?"

"No, no one hurt me. Just leave me alone."

"Why won't you talk to me Harry?" Draco pleaded. "I know there's something wrong, people don't naturally turn from excited to emotionless overnight. You have to talk to someone, Harry! Talk to me, I care, I'm worried about you." His voice began to race through the words, full of emotion. "Why won't you let me help you? I want to be your friend, I'm not going to tell anyone or hurt you or use it against you. Why won't you let me in?"

_"BECAUSE FRIENDSHIP HURTS!"_ The Gryffindor eventually shouted, before collapsing to the ground in sobs. As Draco leaned closer, he thought he heard the Gryffindor faintly mutter, "It's all my fault," over and over again.

"What did your friends do, Harry," Draco inquired gently, one hand resting gently on his shaking shoulders. "Did the Gryffindors say something mean to you?"

"NO!" Harry yelled, staring up at Draco through teary eyes. "No," he continued more softly, "It wasn't the Gryffindors. We're hardly friends anymore. It's… someone else…"

Accepting that Harry wouldn't tell him who the person was just yet, Draco inquired, "What did they do? Did he hurt you?" He asked, suddenly noticing the hand-shaped bruise on Harry's arm. "Did he try to… force himself on you?"

"No, no, nothing like that!" Harry replied hurriedly, gazing deep into Draco's eyes in a desperate attempt to show his true feelings. "He would _never_ hurt me, never! He's my best friend… my only friend…"

"Don't say that, Harry! Aren't I your friend too?" Draco asked sadly.

"You're… you're my friend, Draco. He told me not to trust you, that Malfoys always betray you, but I don't have anyone else. Everyone needs friends, right?" The Gryffindor's eyes looked almost pleading as he gazed at Draco, as if he was desperate for someone to care.

"That's right, Harry, and I promise I won't betray you." Draco reassured his new friend. "I'm not like my father, you know that, right?"

"I know that, Draco," Harry replied, offering a watery smile to show his trust.

"But if he didn't hurt you, what happened to your friend? Why are you so depressed?"

"I did something horrible, Draco!" Harry replied, revealing his story through heartfelt sobs. "He trusted me, and… I invaded his privacy, and he was so angry, and he deserved to be, because I never should have done it, but I was only curious, I never meant to hurt him, but now he'll never talk to me again!" He rested his head on his arms, letting his tears soak into the dark material of his robes. "Oh Draco, I've lost my best friend, and it's _all my fault!_ Just like when I got Sir... my godfather killed, and Cedric, and my parents… why do I always hurt the people I love, Draco?"

"Sh, Harry," Draco comforted, holding the distraught boy in his arms as he released all his hurt and anger. "It's not your fault, Harry, none of it's your fault. He'll understand, he'll come back to you. Your friendship's too precious to give up, Harry."

Stifling his sobs, Harry looked up into the slate grey eyes, filled with concern and friendship, and hesitantly asked, "You really think so?"

"I really do. Now come on, Harry," he said, helping the Gryffindor to his feet, "Let's go get some dinner, and then how about a game of exploding snap. What do you think?"

"That… that would be nice, Draco," Harry replied as he stood, wiping away his tears and smiling warmly at the Slytherin. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Harry. What are friends for?"

As the two boys walked down to the kitchens together, a dark figure watched after them longingly, before turning away. Harry had chosen Draco, he didn't need him anymore. Draco would be good to him, would help him have fun, show him the light. Harry deserved that sort of friend, someone with whom he could share picnics and childish games and trips to the pub, not endless days of darkness with nothing to do but read or talk. Soon enough, Harry would forget about his tutor, and everyone would be happier.

But if he was so glad Harry was happy, why was he crying?

**Review Responses:**

Angel of Immortality, come to think of it, I think Phantom of Paradise is a movie. There are just so many different things to do with Phantom out there, y'know? As for the book, I'll take your word for it.

Kungzoune, if you like my take on the shrieking shack incident, you HAVE to read "Ghosts" by ntamara. It was my inspiration, brilliant fic.

Strega, well, noone ever said Dumbledore wasn't a bit insane ;) And you do have a point. As for the fic, I'm glad you like how the characters are developing, and I hope you enjoyed the interactions in this chapter… poor Harry…

Moondancer, I've heard of Susan Kay's book, and I probably will get around to reading it… one day… more of a fantasy reader, though, so I'm currently devouring David Gemmel.

Lotrox, I'm so jealous. I wanna see phantom! Still, glad you like the fic.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Well, this comes as a suprise. I honestly wasn't expecting myself to write much more of this, having dedicated myself much more fully to my new fic, "Of Cabbages and Kings"... but inspiration came, and who am I to deny it? I hope the chapter doesn't disappoint, despite the long break. If all goes well, you MAY be seeing more of this... have a little bit of chap 7 written... but Cabbages & Kings comes first, I'm afraid.

**Chapter 6**

_See me directly after breakfast.  
Password is Cockroach Clusters  
-A.D._

Harry frowned as he stared at the letter sitting innocuously on his plate. Why on earth would Albus Dumbledore be calling him up? Harry was not a part of the Order, despite all his protestations, and Dumbledore persisted in his foolish belief that an uninformed Harry is a happy Harry. Personally, Harry felt Dumbledore kept him uninformed to keep him a tool, a weapon, and avoid the possibility of seeing him as an equal.

Albus Dumbledore did _not_ have equals.

Then was it about the battle? No, Dumbledore had already had words with him about that, and it surely could not be for his time in the dungeons, as Dumbledore had never caught him out before. And for some reason, he felt that Draco would not betray him. Maybe it was about his mysterious absence from the Dorm room that night? No, because surely Dumbledore would have already brought it up. And Dumbledore had never shown any worry about his lack of application in classes…

Shrugging, Harry merely folded the note and put it in his pocket before returning to his meal, sharing a slight grin with the blonde across the hall. Whatever it was that Dumbledore wanted, at least he had some support now.

Twenty minutes later found Harry sitting across the desk from clearly disturbed Dumbledore. Gently stroking Fawkes, Harry watched impassively as Dumbledore searched through his draw to reveal a white envelope, with a broken wax seal in the form of an emerald snake.

"What is that, Headmaster?" Harry asked, playing the expected role of the agreeable student. "I've never seen anyone seal their letters like that before."

Genially, but with a hint of steel to his voice, Dumbledore replied, "That was what I was about to ask you, child. Are you sure you have never seen this letter before in your life?"

"Positive," Harry replied.

Eyes narrowed in distrust, Dumbledore opened the envelope once more and began to read the missive out loud.

"_Dumbledore, _

_The success of your most recent battle is entirely due to one Harry Potter, indeed we were hardly bereft by the absence of your order. Otherwise, the organization of your teachers was most appalling, and the aurors were a lamentable mess._

_I remain your obedient servant,_

_S.S."_

"Now, Master Potter, I ask you again. Did you have anything to do with this?"

"No, of course not!" Harry replied angrily, "How DARE you suggest that!"

"It is no secret that you have long wanted to have a larger role in this war, even among your peers. Young Ronald is frequently mentioning your complaints and your attempt to sabotage his command on the train last week. And now we have a letter from a mysterious source praising you and degrading him, he who is supported by almost all is peers?"

"His command? WHAT command? He wasn't doing anything but talk of how wonderful he was. If it wasn't for me, half your students would be _dead_! However, that you think I would stoop so low as to go running to you for help… headmaster, what do you take me for?"

"A child," Dumbledore retorted coldly. "A child who will do anything to get what he wants. And I don't know how you learnt about the Spectre, but know that the Order will not respond to your threats. S.S. is dead, and you would be wise not to repeat this childishness, Harry."

Angered, Harry rose from his seat to storm out the door, only to be stopped by Dumbledore's last words. "Oh, and Harry? You will be staying in your dorm for the entirety of the next mission, if I have to chain you there myself. You may go."

Over the next few weeks, Harry noticed several more letters, each sealed with that distinctive emerald serpent and signed "S.S." Whoever this S.S. was, it seemed to delight in insulting and threatening the majority of the teachers, Gryffindor house, and those aurors stationed on Hogwarts grounds. Indeed, Harry saw several notes directed to Ron, who seemed to hate Harry more with each missive.

Indeed, the whole school seemed to be more angered with Harry than normal, as if they too suspected him for the cause. And he couldn't deny that it made sense - Harry was conspicuous in his lack of missives, and the positive light in which those received seemed to hold him. And no matter how he responded, no one seemed to believe him.

But as the weeks progressed, the letters began to be joined by other strange phenomenon. Classrooms were mysteriously flooded, or staircases redirected. A flock of Cornish pixies was let loose in the Gryffindor dormitory. All the torches on the second floor corridor were snuffed out, so that not even Dumbledore was able to restore them, despite his utilization of Hogwarts' magic itself. And occasionally, a deep and frightening laugh could be heard in the lower reaches of the school.

Though initially many of these occurrences were blamed on Peeves, it soon became clear that not even the most powerful of poltergeists was capable of spelling two dozen suits of armor into a ceaseless recital of "Mac the Knife", let alone forcing the enchanted ceiling of the great all to appear continually stormy. No, it appeared that the school was dealing with something far more sinister. But what?

Rumours began to arise among the students, about a creature called the Spectre. Half-man, half-shadows, he was thought to be the enemy of all children and followers of the light, a darkness to worthy that of Voldemort. Apparently, he had appeared at Hogwarts once before, with the same system of threatening notes, and one student vanished forever.

Ronald became a hero again, as he recited all he could learn from his older brother Bill, who was a prefect when the last reign of the Spectre came to an end. Ron, of course, claimed that his brother had killed the Spectre, and that Ron himself could easily destroy this imitator, but Harry just snorted and rolled his eyes. He had talked to Bill himself, and Bill knew nothing more than that the Spectre had simply stopped haunting. But wit his place among the students as it was, he knew none would listen.

No, Harry determined to stay far away from all this talk of Spectres and demons and less savory things, spending much of his time with Draco. Though he was not permitted in Hogsmeade - for safety reasons, of course - he and Draco had many chances to be alone together, where they would play quidditch or chess, or merely sit and talk. To Harry's surprise, he found himself revealing information he had never told anyone but his angel. He told Draco of his horrible childhood, of how much he had needed Sirius, how terribly his death had hurt. And Draco, in turn, told Harry of a childhood with fake smiles at day and cold sneers at night, where nothing he did was ever good enough.

Though Harry sometimes wished for the simple comfort of his Angel, in Draco he found someone he could have fun with as well as confide in, someone who could understand his danger from Voldemort and desire for revenge, Draco being high on the wanted list himself. And if Draco tended to expect Harry to follow his lead, well, it was the least he could do in return for having such a good friend.

However, Harry couldn't help missing his Angel, who had understood him perfectly, who had treated him with the respect and trust that no one, not even Draco, had ever shown. But it was Harry's fault, and he must live with the consequences. It didn't stop the pain, but it helped him keep going.

He was reminiscing on his short day with his Angel, in fact, when he found his feet almost taking the road to his secret chamber. Turning away, he heard the voice of Mundungus Fletcher, one of the order's representatives in the school, and crept closer to listen. "Like yellow parchment is his skin. A gaping hole serves as the eye that never grew… if you don't watch out, his fangs will tear the skin from your very bones!" Mundungus leered, and the girls gathered around his feet leapt back in fear.

Smirking, Mundungus opened his mouth to continue, only to find a hand that grabbed is arm and spun him to face… McGonagal. She seemed to have come out of nowhere, like the very Spectre of which they spoke. "Those who speak of what they know, find too late that prudent silence is wise. Mundungus Fletcher, the Spectre is nothing to joke about, and nor should you be entertaining these young girls' fancies as it is. The headmaster and staff have enough to worry about."

With that, she turned and strode away, leaving Harry and the girls stunned to silence. So… there really was a Spectre? And if so, how did McGonagall know him?

Not for the first time, a thought drifted into Harry's mind… but he shoved it away before it became too clear. He would NOT think that! Angry at himself, he strode confidently down the hall and past the girls, not stopping until he reached the relative safety of his common room. Suddenly, the halls seemed entirely too dark.

Not long afterwards, Harry and Draco were enjoying a picnic near the lake. With september drawing to a close, colder days were drawing near, and both were eager to spend time in the sun while it still remained. However, Harry could not help but feel slightly awkward around Draco, despite all that the other boy had done for him. Draco was a good friend, he appreciated him, treated him like he was important, did with him all the things he yearned to do... and yet, there was always something missing.

Then, as Harry was joking about the new Defence teacher, he noticed Draco staring at him. Uncomfortable, his voice slowly petered out, while he shifted in his seat. What was it that Draco wanted at him? Why was he staring at him?

When the other boy leaned forward and kissed him, Harry was astounded. Quickly breaking the kiss and backing away slightly, he incredulously asked, "What was that, Draco?"

Confused, and not a little bit hurt, the other boy tried to move closer, making Harry back away further. "What was what, Harry?" he asked softly, though failing to conceal his irritation. "I take you out for a romantic picnic, what do you _think_ it was? Surely you're not _that_ oblivious. Now," he added, smiling graciously, "Come back over here and let me show you how a gentleman should treat his love."

Backing away further, brow furrowed in confusion, Harry stated, "I don't understand. We're friends, that's all we are. And i like you, Draco, but i thought you respected me enough not to tell me what to do." He tried to maintain his calm, but his annoyance leaked out towards the end. Surely Draco knew that Harry needed to make his own decisions? Who did Draco think he was, kissing him like that?

"But, Harry..." Draco wheedled, "You know you want me, I can see it in your eyes, in how your body," he stroked Harry's thigh, sending involuntary shivers up his spine, "Responds to my very touch. All I'm doing is giving you what you want."

Before Harry could retort, he was silenced by Draco's final words: "And I _love_ you, Harry." He seemed so very honest...

Confusion swelled in Harry's heart. On the one hand, Draco was nice to him, and he wanted his friend to be happy. On the other hand... "I'm sorry, Draco," Harry said quietly, lifting himself to his feet. "I can't discuss this with you right now."

He felt Draco's gaze on his back all the way to the castle.

Subconsciously wandering the halls, Harry supposed he shouldn't be surprised when he found himself at his room in the dungeons. Where else was there for him to go? He had thought that Draco was there for him, but suddenly he viewed everything he had ever said in search of ulterior motives. Was this why Draco had talked to him that day, to win another notch in his belt? Oh, Harry knew that Draco had had many partners, of both sexes... but he had never shown anyone the affection he had shown Harry...

"Oh Angel, I'm so confused," he murmured aloud, though he had little hope his Angel would hear, let alone care. No, he had destroyed all chance of that weeks ago, when he allowed his foolish initial shock to come between he and his truest friend. But nevertheless, he continued to talk, as if the very act of airing his problems could help him solve them.

"I just don't know what to do. I mean, I like Draco, I really do. He's been nice to me, and i so wanted a friend... without you, I have nobody, and everyone needs somebody, don't they angel? Even at the Dursleys, I used to have Jim to talk to, even if he was only a broken teddy, but now i don't know _where_ we stand. He says he loves me, but how can I believe that? Nobody's ever loved me, nobody, and how can I trust him, a Malfoy? is he just using me? Or am I being too doubting..."

He talked until his throat grew sore, whereupon he sat with his back against the cold silver of the mirror and sobbed. He was almost asleep when he heard a voice echo through the stone chamber. _"Oh, my child..."_

"Angel, is that you?" he asked, sitting upright. No response. "Angel, can you hear me?" The room seemed to grow smaller around him, the silence almost audible. "Angel, please, if you're there, give me a sign, something, anything! I know I was cruel, I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I couldn't mean it, appearance isn't important, you know that, I'm so sorry, so sorry, won't you please forgive me? Oh Angel, don't hate me, I couldn't bear it if you hated me..."

_"Oh, my child,"_ he heard again, sadly echoing from the grey stone. Then... yes! The mirror opened behind him, and he stood just in time to be caught in a pair of familiarly warm arms, sleeved and gloved in purest black. "Oh, my child," the figure repeated once more, tenderly cradling the younger man in his arms as if he were much younger. "How could I ever hate you?"

**Review Responses: (If any of you are still reading this. lol.)**

Lotrox: Yes, I've seen the film, but I want to see it on stage! However much we love our Gerry, it's just not quite the same. Also, I see myself writing two endings, so as to satisfy both groups of people... but as to which is the REAL ending, well, you'll juist have to find out when we get there :P

Shelik: Why thankyou, I'm honoured. However, I do recommend you check out my faves, as they are universally better than me :)

King Mana: Thankyou! And no, Snape's not horrid looking enough to be a phantom just as he is.

Little Lotte Daae: Am glad you like it. Yay for random HP/PotO crossovers :D

Lady Artemis Cosmos: I resisted the urge to say something sacrastic. Aren't you proud of me? And yes, this is based on Phantom, which is the point. Am glad you like it.

Serena23: Thankyou, and no, am not updating very frequently. Yes, am horrible. Bad, naughty Morauko. No cookie for me :(


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